Cutting Out of Life
by Silent Angel
Summary: Draco enters the school's dugeons expecting to be alone, but ends up with who he least expected, doing what he least expected.
1. but in the end we all get high

Chapter two is the same story with a different ending. This is the  
ending I prefer, but I posted the other for those who don't like death.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Title: ...but in the end we all get high...  
Author: Silent Angel, or as others know me, Aino Akki  
Pairings: implied, but nothing dramatic  
Warnings: slight yaoi implied, mention of het, angst, deathfic  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters at all.   
They all belong to J.K. Rowling.  
I personally think that doing drugs is stupid-it's just a   
rhyme people. jeez.  
  
People live and people die  
but in the end we all get high  
so if in life you don't succeed  
Fuck it all and smoke some weed  
-Girl's bathroom at Powell Middle School  
  
  
It was nearly three in the morning. Aside from those once a year  
escapades when Voldemorttried to kill him, it was probably later than  
he'd ever wanted to stay up. He glanced over at Ron's bed and allowed  
a small grin to grace his face. Hermione was laying next to the   
red-head. For a breif moment he pondered retrieving his   
invisibility cloak, but decided against it. Hermione might need it to  
return to the girl's dorm, and in case the high didn't leave him  
tonight, he wanted to have assured his friend's happinedd to himself.  
  
"Time for the junkie to get his fix." His voice was filled with the   
self-pitty and desperation that had been eating away at him for the  
past summer. Soon he'd be nothing but and empty shell.   
In front of him the prtrait swung open and let him slip out to wander  
down the halls into the dungeons where the sound of a mirror breaking  
would be all but inaudible to anyone roaming the halls.  
  
As he had thought, no one came rushing in at the angry sound of the   
mirror crashing and shattering against the floor. One by one, each  
shard and sliver was picked up, held, and placed in the trash till   
only the sharpest one remained. Not waiting to get out the bandages  
he'd placed in the room upon arrival a week ago, he pulled his robes  
up to reveal the series of scars running across his thigh. The glass  
quickly found and rested on a fresh slice of skin, the edge already  
digging in, drawing the blood out in small rivulets.   
  
He dragged the shard down, the high beginning at the first wave of  
blood streaming across the other, older, scars. The high had barely  
started when someone slid out of the shadows. He stopped, caught  
red-handed. The other boy smirked and leaned against the wall.  
  
"A kinfe would hurt more." Even that simple sentance threatened to   
reveal his disgust, contempt, and even more, his concern. That couldn't  
happen.  
  
"I know, Malfoy." Malfoy flinched at the hate coursing through his   
rival's voice. He had never before heard it as strongly as he did now.  
As always, the fact the hate existed was made all the more disturbing  
by the way it was purely directed at the speaker.  
  
"So why do you bother doing it? Isn't it supposed to hurt?" He stumbled  
over his confusion. "Isn't it the control over pain?" He ran his thumb  
across the white smears that ran along his wrists, remembering.  
  
"The blood's enough. It's my blood instead of theirs." The high was   
fading more quickly now than it ever had before. "I just need to see  
it... Make sure it's really there to begin with." Then the high was   
over with the drying of his blood. He sttod to leave, but the   
blond-haired Slytherin stood in his way.  
  
"I," He paused, almost embarassed. "Don't come back to do this.  
Don't try it anymore." Before the other could protest, Malfoy   
continued, "Talk to someone."  
  
The boy scowled and shook his head. "They're not empty." Inside he   
wondered why Malfoy was talking to him. Why was he letting Malfoy talk  
to him?  
  
"Talk to me."  
  
"Why do you care?" he countered, trying to block the desperate sound in  
his enemy's voice.   
Malfoy's expression closed itself off again, destroying the few   
remaining remnants of the high.  
  
"You're enough of a failure as it is. I didn't think you wanted to add  
on to it by dying."  
  
Green eyes watched, stunned and in pain, as one of his least favorite  
people left him alone. He fingered the shard of glass almost lovingly  
and slid it down his arm carefully, allowing the high to take over  
for the last time. 


	2. Tomorrow Night I Guess I'll Talk

Title: Tomorrow Night I Guess I'll Talk  
Author: Silent Angel, or as others know me, Aino Akki  
Pairings: implied, but nothing dramatic  
Warnings: slight yaoi implied, mention of het, angst  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters at all.   
They all belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
It was nearly three in the morning. Aside from those once a year  
escapades when Voldemorttried to kill him, it was probably later than  
he'd ever wanted to stay up. He glanced over at Ron's bed and allowed  
a small grin to grace his face. Hermione was laying next to the   
red-head. For a breif moment he pondered retrieving his   
invisibility cloak, but decided against it. Hermione might need it to  
return to the girl's dorm, and in case the high didn't leave him  
tonight, he wanted to have assured his friend's happinedd to himself.  
  
"Time for the junkie to get his fix." His voice was filled with the   
self-pitty and desperation that had been eating away at him for the  
past summer. Soon he'd be nothing but and empty shell.   
In front of him the prtrait swung open and let him slip out to wander  
down the halls into the dungeons where the sound of a mirror breaking  
would be all but inaudible to anyone roaming the halls.  
  
As he had thought, no one came rushing in at the angry sound of the   
mirror crashing and shattering against the floor. One by one, each  
shard and sliver was picked up, held, and placed in the trash till   
only the sharpest one remained. Not waiting to get out the bandages  
he'd placed in the room upon arrival a week ago, he pulled his robes  
up to reveal the series of scars running across his thigh. The glass  
quickly found and rested on a fresh slice of skin, the edge already  
digging in, drawing the blood out in small rivulets.   
  
He dragged the shard down, the high beginning at the first wave of  
blood streaming across the other, older, scars. The high had barely  
started when someone slid out of the shadows. He stopped, caught  
red-handed. The other boy smirked and leaned against the wall.  
  
"A kinfe would hurt more." Even that simple sentance threatened to   
reveal his disgust, contempt, and even more, his concern. That couldn't  
happen.  
  
"I know, Malfoy." Malfoy flinched at the hate coursing through his   
rival's voice. He had never before heard it as strongly as he did now.  
As always, the fact the hate existed was made all the more disturbing  
by the way it was purely directed at the speaker.  
  
"So why do you bother doing it? Isn't it supposed to hurt?" He stumbled  
over his confusion. "Isn't it the control over pain?" He ran his thumb  
across the white smears that ran along his wrists, remembering.  
  
"The blood's enough. It's my blood instead of theirs." The high was   
fading more quickly now than it ever had before. "I just need to see  
it... Make sure it's really there to begin with." Then the high was   
over with the drying of his blood. He sttod to leave, but the   
blond-haired Slytherin stood in his way.  
  
"I," He paused, almost embarassed. "Don't come back to do this.  
Don't try it anymore." Before the other could protest, Malfoy   
continued, "Talk to someone."  
  
The boy scowled and shook his head. "They're not empty." Inside he   
wondered why Malfoy was talking to him. Why was he letting Malfoy talk  
to him?  
  
"Talk to me."  
  
"Why do you care?" he countered, trying to block the desperate sound in  
his enemy's voice.   
Malfoy's expression closed itself off again, destroying the few   
remaining remnants of the high.  
  
"You're enough of a failure as it is. I didn't think you wanted to add  
on to it by dying."  
  
Green eyes watched, stunned, as one of his least favorite  
people left him alone. He fingered the shard of glass almost lovingly  
and slid it down his arm carefully, letting the blood stain his robes.  
He waited a few moments in a thoughtful silence, then threw the glass  
away with the rest. He cleaned the still aching wounds and wrapped them  
in bandages. A few more minutes passed before he left after his rival,  
his possible savior, and hated himself for it. 


End file.
